


The Seventh Circle

by dismalzelenka, ladymdc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: (one-sided hate), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Feels, Bad Puns, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, From Sex to Love, Grey Warden Secrets, Hate to Love, Lost history, Modern Thedas, Mystery, POV Alternating, Pre-Blight, The Blight (Dragon Age), Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, Zombie Apocalypse Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 13:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc/pseuds/ladymdc
Summary: Run if you can. Madness has filled the silence. Do not return to this place.[A modern w/magic AU where the Wardens & darkspawn are a myth, a bedtime story parents tell their children. However, an incident in the Western Approach sends Reyna Cousland and Adrestia Tabris on a search to uncover a truth lost to time and secrecy before it's too late to stop events from spiraling further out of control.]





	1. What pride has wrought.

**Author's Note:**

> Reyna belongs to MC & Adrestia belongs to Diz.

**Solace 20:19**

Reyna Cousland placed her sunglasses in the center console and got out of the vehicle. The estate was lovely in summer, lush and beautiful. She couldn’t deny it, but the beauty felt bitter and false as she took it in.

She opened the back door to let Acheron out then wordlessly led him up the flagstone path to the manor. At the dark walnut doors on the veranda, she paused. She just needed a moment to brace herself. To prepare for what she was about to face.

Inside, the foyer was well lit and immaculate. A circular table sat in the middle of the open area. On it, there was a large bouquet of dark blue flowers interspersed with olive branches—a play on the colors of their house. 

Pride. 

It was a double-edged weapon, just as able to drive one to succeed as to destroy them.

When she looked up, she found her father standing in the doorway to the breakfast nook. His eyes were a stormy grey. Calm, yet powerful; precisely contained—never show weakness or fear. 

_ Conquered By None. _

“Reyna,” he said, absently scratching Acheron’s ear. “Take a walk with me.”

Reyna nodded stiffly and followed after her father. He led her outside then along one of the lanes lined with trees heavy with plums ripe for picking. Her father didn’t make any effort to converse until they were well away from the manor. 

“I don’t want you to transfer,” he abruptly declared.

She had already decided to walk pride’s razor edge and told her father as such. “It has already been approved. I leave in two weeks.”

Her father came to a halt as his expression grew bitterly resigned as if preparing himself to be stuck on some quarter. 

“I had it on good authority that General Howe—” her lip curled up with disdain of its own volition, “—was going to send me there to add insult to injury. This way, I control the narrative.” 

There was a long silence. Her father stared down the lane, his eyes far away. 

“What happened should not affect your career,” he said eventually, turning to look down at her. “It had nothing to do with you.”

The betrayal had been so exacting and deeply personal that she could barely bring herself to think about it. 

“It has everything to do with me,” Reyna told him. “I am a Cousland.” 

“True.” A slow smile curved his lips. Then it vanished, and he glanced away. 

But Reyna saw it, the sudden lines of tension around his eyes. 

“So, the narrative; what do you need me to do to help offset—” he flicked his hand dismissively at his side, “—everything?”

Reyna blinked. “I don’t need you to do anything,” she said in a tight voice. “Did you really think I was going to distance myself from you? A Cousland always does their duty. You taught me that. You did your duty, and now, it’s my turn.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully. The sunlight catching his hair, silvered with age. 

“You know, just when I think I couldn’t be more proud of you, you prove me wrong.”

Her throat tightened so much it was hard to swallow. She managed to tip her chin down in acknowledgment. 

When she was a little girl, Reyna had thought he was cold. However, as she matured, she realized he wasn’t unfeeling. Her father felt things; he just did so privately. 

In that regard, they were alike; driven by emotions, but never allowed them to dictate. The head always won out over the heart. At least, until General Bryce Cousland was court-martialed for insubordination and suspended without pay for five years. 

Then everything changed. 

While she composed herself, her father made a convincing job of admiring the blooming hydrangeas. Reyna knew he was proud of her. She never questioned that. But being reminded of it as she tried to be his steady rock in a sea of shifting alliances was overwhelming.

“Come,” he said, briefly placing his hand between her shoulder blades when she stepped up next to him a moment later. “Let’s finish our stroll through the gardens before your mother decides to hunt us down.”

“Did she also assume I was going to cast you aside like some black stain on my career that I couldn’t wait to expunge?” she asked dryly as they began walking down the return lane. 

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “She didn’t. I believe she just wanted the satisfaction of being present when I was proved wrong. Thank you for allowing myself to be spared further embarrassment.”

Reyna smiled then. Truly smiled for what felt like the first time in months. 

Her father chuckled. “In my defense, neither of us have handled this exceptionally well, and I’m unaccustomed to you being—angry.”

Through it all, her father had appeared unaffected. If Reyna had been less angry herself, she might have believed it, but their personalities were basically the same. Which, oddly enough, left her uncertain how to address the strain that had asserted itself between them. But there was an instant comfort she found in learning that it was all misplaced, that he had simply felt as lost as her. 

“Likewise,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how this conversation was going to go when you asked me to come home to discuss it.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just easier to discern what is going on in your head when we speak face to face. And we’ve avoided the general topic long enough.”

“I agree. I shouldn’t have tried to talk about it over the phone. I just didn’t want you to hear about my transfer from anyone else and misunderstand. Obviously, that backfired.”

“That is on me, not you,” he said as they began to ascend the large stone steps up to the patio.

Reyna’s mother was setting the small table in the breakfast nook when they stepped inside. Her parents stared at one another for a moment, then her mother arched a single blonde eyebrow.

“It is as you said, Eleanor,” he allowed drolly. 

A slow cat-like smile graced her mother’s lips. “Welcome home, Reyna,” she said, stepping forward to give her daughter a quick hug. “Lunch is almost ready, I’m just finishing up the chicken.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Not at all. It’ll take me ten minutes, tops.”

Her father nodded. “Alright, then I’ll be right back,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of the room. Her mother’s blue eyes glittered knowingly before exiting through the adjacent door leading to the kitchen. 

Reyna shrugged inwardly before taking a seat. At her elbow, she found today’s newspaper. Something twisted inside her as she read the headline on the front page. 

> ** _CONTROVERSIAL DRILLING RIG IN ABYSSAL RIFT TO BEGIN OPERATIONS IN EARLY AUGUST_ **
> 
> _ ‘Rift Platform 52’, or ‘P-52’, is expected to launch operations on Saturday, August 6th, according to a press release by Antonius Faber, CEO of OFT Enterprises.  _
> 
> _ This venture is made possible thanks to Orzammar based Paragon Branka Kondrat’s revolutionary structural engineering research. This state of the art drilling facility, the most advanced of its kind to date, is affixed to the cliff-side of the Abyssal Rift using massive caissons and a carefully threaded steel cable suspension system. It is roughly the size of a 15-story building and will deploy three separate drilling units to depths of up to 5,000 meters. P-52 is expected to reach oil reserves that have remained untapped for centuries due to the unstable landscape of the Western Approach and widespread environmental toxicity located within the Rift itself.  _
> 
> _ While few would question the wealth of resources finally available, Ferelden concerns on the matter initially went largely unheard until King Cailan Theirin and Empress Celene Valmont established the Great Orlais-Ferelden Oil Alliance earlier this year.  _
> 
> _ In exchange— _

Reyna heard footsteps and looked up as her father reentered the room.

His eyes flicked from hers down to the newspaper. He stared at it for several seconds, then sighed. 

“For once, I’m not mentioned.”

Reyna nodded, keeping her expression carefully closed as she quietly seethed. 

On the surface, increasing oil imports from Orlais at a lesser cost in exchange for military support in the hazardous environment seemed to make good sense. However, production sharing agreements were horrendously advantageous to the host country. The host country did not need to make a significant amount of investment for exploration or production activities because the oil company carried all operational and financial costs and risks. Then, if that weren’t enough, the host country gleaned knowledge, technological advances, and expertise through the agreement.

In summation, the host country— _ Orlais _ —would reap endless benefits and profits from this groundbreaking endeavor.

Ferelden would be guaranteed access to cheap oil, and nothing more. This was a fact her father had bluntly relayed to some reporters at the persuasion of his lifelong friend, Rendon Howe, who then used the souring tide of public opinion in the matter to motivate King Cailan to call for his court-martial. It succeeded.

Predictably, Rendon was promoted to take his place.

Reyna rolled her jaw and forced herself to set aside her sudden rage. 

“It’s fine, Reyna; I shall live on,” he said, crossing the room. 

“We shall live on,” she corrected.

“Precisely.” 

There was a pregnant pause.

“I have something for you,” he said, then reached into his pocket and withdrew two metal, half-inch bands inlaid with runes. 

She looked up at her father in astonishment. 

He smirked, then held out his empty hand to her. “As you said, it’s your turn.” 

“I can’t accept that.”

“It was always going to be yours someday,” he said, then beckoned with his fingers to encourage her along.

At that, Reyna swallowed down the rest of her objections and let him help her to stand; Acheron perked up from where he was doing a rather good job at blending in with the wood flooring. 

“Part of why I asked you here today was to tell you that I’m resigning from the service,” he told her, slipping the bands onto her left arm. 

“When did you make that decision?” 

“When the verdict was handed down. I was just waiting for the news cycle to die down. None of this was supposed to be about me.” He began to precisely situate one on her forearm just a couple inches from her elbow; the other was dangling from her wrist like an oversized bracelet. 

“It was about Ferelden, and I did right by her,” he said. “That is all that matters.” 

Reyna slowly nodded. She understood the implications behind the decision. Going along with it all would be as good as admitting wrongdoing. 

Once in position, the bands resized themselves to her perfectly where they would remain unless she went in to have them reset and removed. Reyna could tell there were enchantments woven into the silverite to prevent her arm from chafing and to keep it the ideal temperature.

“Can you feel it?” 

Now that he mentioned it, Reyna could recognize a presence pressing against the outside of her forearm. “I can tell I’m connected to it, but I can’t tell how to make it do anything.”

“It takes some getting used to. You’ll just have to practice.” He took two steps back. “Curl your fingers in one at a time, starting with your pinky, and you’ll be able to separate it out better.” 

Reyna took a deep, even breath and did as instructed. As her thumb curled inward, she felt it. 

The semi-translucent, iridescent blue field flickered to life for a half-second, then vanished. 

Her father smiled proudly, and Reyna could feel the pressure in her cheeks and eyes as she struggled not to cry over it. 

She knew what it looked like in its full corporeal form. A modernized replica of the shields their ancestors used to carry back in the Dragon Age. It had been a gift from the late King Maric Theirin when her father was knighted for exceptional services to the Crown. In that alone, it was priceless, and yet astronomical amounts of time and effort and magic went into making the one of a kind device. 

She parted her lips to speak—

“Don’t thank me, and I won’t…” he trailed off and waved a hand. 

Reyna exhaled; part relief, part amusement. “Deal.”

“Good,” he said, shoulders dropping as if he had also found the entire conversation emotionally draining. But then her father put his arm around her and pulled her in for a quick, slightly awkward half-embrace. 

As if awaiting this cue, her mother breezed back into the room to begin serving lunch: garlic bread and caprese chicken avocado salad with a balsamic reduction. Reyna’s mouth quirked at the corner when Acheron dug in. It always did. Without fail, he happily ate anything her mother put in front of him. 

Later, Reyna would sit in her West Hill apartment and think back on the meal. In that moment, they had all but forgotten what had happened. The only deviation from the thousands of other meals they’ve shared in that room was the bands were affixed to her arm instead of her father’s. Where they should be. 

Reyna idly traced the runes wrapped around her wrist. 

All this time, she had been supportive but distant, trying to separate out her own personal turmoil over the matter so her father wouldn’t carry that too. He had done so anyway. Penance perhaps for negatively affecting her career, one he knew she didn’t even want even though Reyna had never admitted it. 

At least, they managed to set things right. It was far past time, but neither of them were much good at talking about how they felt. 

“I think we should stay at the manor until we leave,” she said suddenly. 

Acheron barked, stump waggling, and Reyna reached for her phone.

It was a strange feeling, to move back into her childhood home. A home she loved and would someday inherit to become Lady of the Manor. A fact that made her painfully aware while she was an heir, she was not a true heir. No matter what she did, the Cousland name would die with her. 

Reyna tried not to think about it. 

Instead, she read, ran with Acheron, and cooked with her mother. She practiced activating the shield, which was like strengthening a part of her she hadn’t known existed and had muscle atrophy as a result. Reyna and her father even discussed potential ways she could excel in her new post, to climb rank despite the looming expectation that she stall out or quit. 

When Reyna left, it was as if she’d be back the next day. Goodbyes were another thing they weren’t very good at. 

The flight was uneventful, as was settling into her new place in Valemont. A two-bedroom, 1.5 bath duplex with exactly one parking space designated as hers behind the home, which was all she needed. 

There were some incredulous looks when 2ndLt. Cousland provided her identification at the gates of Griffon Wing Army Base the following Monday, but Reyna ignored it. Then she parked her new jeep and slung her bag onto her shoulder before dropping Acheron off for training on the local wildlife. And now, she made her way deeper into the facility in search of her office. 

As she rounded a corner on the third floor, she allowed herself a quick glance around, taking in the layout. Reyna stiffened when she saw him. Seeing her certainly hadn’t seemed to surprise or upset him. 

He’d been waiting for it. 

Howe simply leaned back on his heels and studied her, his eyes bright as they swept over her in a rapid catalog, lingering a moment on the band visible around her left wrist. Nothing about him had changed since she’d last seen him, and yet she could feel the weight of everything that had in the air between them. 

He hadn’t tried to contact her. 

Not once. 

Whatever they’d been had never been defined. Not friends, but something that had mattered enough for Reyna to feel a growing well of hurt as she blankly met his stare. Not that it mattered. 

None of it had ever mattered. 

Eventually, Howe looked down, and his lips thinned. Then his posture shifted slightly. There was something he was trying to communicate to her, and her grey eyes flicked over to the plaque on the door he stood nearest to. 

_ 316  
2ndLt. Nathaniel Howe _

Her mouth twisted derisively. Of course, their offices would be across the hall from one another. She should have expected it. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Howe twitch, and his expression harden.

Reyna turned on her heel and entered her office. 

She set her bag down and went to the window. The Western Approach was a sea of unstable, shifting sands, rocky ridges, and strong, howling winds. On the horizon, P-52 sat in the middle of a steel web. Without a doubt, this office was also chosen to remind her how she got here. 

She should be enraged, but she couldn’t summon it. She hadn’t realized how powerless she was to fight her circumstances until that moment. 

People did not believe in facts. Order and truth could be tarnished. 

She didn’t know how to rise above it, but she would still try. 

She sank into the chair at her desk and went to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reyna’s face claim can be found [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1gejBTfpc3CZT5fBocDB0KIp2nP6tKFi_) on my google drive for any interested. ♥️
> 
> Also, sorry there were no bad puns in this chapter... but Anders hasn’t made his debut yet.


	2. Lonely Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrestia's faceclaim can be found [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/101Ddo9X_hoQO7IVwymO1Rdrpaj5L3vfh/view?usp=drivesdk).

“Truth or dare?” 

The air was full of cigarette smoke and drunken promises. The taste of hops was bitter on her tongue as she drained her first beer in one go and slammed the glass back down on the table. Anders shot her a mischievous expression from across the booth, eyebrows waggling.

“Fuck you.” Adrestia grinned and planted an affectionate kick to his shin beneath the table. “Trivia night hasn’t even started. I’m definitely not drunk enough for all that.” 

“Yet.” He waved their server down and motioned for refills for them both. “We’ll get there.” 

She snorted in response and lit up a fresh cigarette with a snap of her fingers. “Where’s Tall, Dark, and Grumpy?” 

Anders jerked his head towards somewhere behind him. “Powdering his nose. What about Velanna?”

“Fashionably late,” sniffed a voice to her right. “I couldn’t find parking anywhere. Also, Shianni wants to know if you’ll be coming to the rally next weekend.”

Adrestia groaned and flopped her face forward into her arms as Velanna slid into the booth beside her. “Why must she torment me so?” she whined into the table. “I already told her I was busy.” 

Velanna sighed. “Just tell her you’re not interested.” 

“Ah, yea, let’s see how that would go over.” Adrestia cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Not interested?” she mimicked. “Tia, you can’t bury your head in the sand while OFT leaves an ecological footprint the size of the fucking Frostbacks across the Approach, it’s bad enough Soris  _ works  _ for them, but I thought you would have the good sense to know what side of history to be on--”

“She’s not entirely wrong,” Velanna pointed out. “Not that it’s any of my business what you and Soris do with your lives, but--”

“Ugh.” Adrestia grimaced. “See, this is why nobody invites you guys to parties. No one’s singing OFT’s praises, but not all of us are in a position to be choosy about who signs our paychecks, and for some reason, Shianni just can’t seem to get that through her head. No offense, Velanna, but I’m not going to march and wave signs and back an organization that’s trying to shut down the company currently paying half our rent every month. It is what it is, alright?” 

“Velanna,” Anders interrupted in a singsong voice. “So sorry, it’s a riveting conversation the two of you are having, really, but the nice gentleman over here is trying to ask what you want to drink.” 

Velanna cleared her throat and smoothed the front of her shirt. “West Hill, neat. Double, please.” 

“Double West Hill, two pale ales, and a plate of cheese fries. You got it.” 

Adrestia squinted at Anders. “When did you order cheese fries?” 

He waved his hands theatrically. “Magic.” 

“Maker, please tell me you didn't order the cheese fries.” Nathaniel scowled as he slid into the booth beside Anders. “He did just say that, didn't he?” 

Velanna wore a puzzled frown as she leaned forward thoughtfully and perused the stack of blank paper slips the server had dropped off. “What's wrong with the cheese fries?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Anders declared. “They're delicious. Iconic. Sublime.”

“He's lactose intolerant,” Nathaniel said dryly. “And our flat only has one bathroom.” 

Anders’ indignant response was cut short by a sudden burst of mic feedback. “Goooooooood evening, everyone! It's ten o’clock on a Monday night here at the Silver and Brew; you all know what that means!” 

Drunken cheers filled the bar as the MC rattled off the rules for trivia night. Anders scribbled gleefully on one of the slips and held it in the air. “Who wants to turn in our team name?” 

Nathaniel craned his neck to see the paper and grimaced. He shook his head emphatically. “No. We are not—we are  _ not _ calling ourselves the ‘Howe-dy Do’s. I refuse. I will leave this bar.” 

Adrestia cackled. “Maybe we can be ‘The Fun Table, Plus Nathaniel.’”

“Nope. Strike two. I'm telling you, I will walk.”

“Walk then.” Velanna pursed her lips. “An empty seat would complain less.” 

“I got it!” Anders scribbled furiously on a third sheet and held it up proudly:  _ The Nathaniel Meowes. _

“Oh, for  _ fuck’s  _ sake,” Nathaniel hissed as Velanna dissolved into laughter.

“That’s it! That’s the one!” Adrestia snatched the paper out of Anders’ hand and darted out of the booth before there could be any further protest. 

Her phone vibrated on her way back to the table. 

“Alrighty, folks, it’s roll call time!” the MC announced. “The Mabaristas!” Adrestia scrolled through her phone as cheers erupted from a table somewhere behind her. 

“The Aequitarian Antiquarians! That’s a whole lot of letters to tell someone you’re in your fifties and still have student loan payments!” More cheers, drunken laughter. Someone was cackling and beating on a table. 

_ Papa Tabs: one missed call. _

Adrestia glanced at the time and frowned. It wasn’t like her father to be up this late. She ducked into the nearest restroom and called him back. 

It rang four times before going to voicemail. She stared at her screen, where a far younger Soris and Shianni smiled back at her from the back of her father's beat- up old pickup truck. Seven years ago, the three of them were embroiled in college prep coursework, submitting university applications, smoking cigarettes and tagging underpasses with discount spray paint in their spare time and pretending to be tougher than they were. 

Seven years ago, they had been inseparable. 

She shook her head, shook off the memories, and stuffed her phone back in her pocket. Tonight, she was just going to get drunk. 

She made her way back to the table and slid into the booth where Velanna scooted over to make room. “Took you long enough,” Anders said. “Oh, wait, wait for it, here he goes—” He held up a hand in anticipation. Nathaniel groaned again and buried his face in his hands. 

“The Nathaniel Meowes!” the MC announced. “Boy howdy, someone either really loves or hates their name right about now, don't you think?” 

“Again. Fuck  _ all _ of you,” Nathaniel grumbled through his fingers. Velanna threw her head back and laughed. 

Her phone vibrated again. 

_ Soris: bbbb .,.,klkklllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll;l;;’ _ _   
_ _ Soris: n nnnnn nn,,,,, s _ __   
_ Soris: 037.416.110.720 _ _   
_ _ Soris: lllllllllllllllll.;/ _

“Hold on a second, guys.” Adrestia slipped back out of the booth and nodded toward the entrance. “I have to check on something really quick.” 

Velanna gave her a look. “Everything alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Adrestia hoped her laugh sounded genuine. “Just Dad being Dad. I'll be back.” 

“Alright, if you say so.”

She wove her way through the crowd and slipped through the side door and onto the patio. A cold, dry wind blasted her in the face the second she stepped outside. The noise from the bar dulled to a muted murmur as the door closed behind her with a heavy clank. Rifling through her pockets, she dumped out a pack of cigarettes, a handful of empty gum wrappers, and her phone out onto a wrought iron patio table. 

She stared at the text from Soris as she slipped a cigarette between her lips and inhaled deeply. Her lungs burned from the draw. Her hands were trembling. She squinted at the screen one last time before dialing her father back and wedging the phone between her shoulder and her ear. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“Tia, thank the Maker.”

“Dad?” Adrestia frowned. “Are you okay?” 

“Have you heard from Soris today?” 

The texts. She chewed on her lip, afraid to ask for elaboration. “Why, did you?” she decided on finally.

“He's still on shift until tomorrow, right?” Cyrion’s voice wavered with uncertainty. “I didn't think they had cell service out on the rig.” 

Adrestia sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. “Did you get the texts too?”

“No, but I got a weird call from his phone. What texts?”

“Don't worry about it, Dad, I'll send you a screenshot later. What did he say?”

“That's the thing, Tia. He didn't say anything. All I heard was, well, to be honest, it just sounded like breathing. And there was this…scratching sound in the background. Really rhythmic, though. It's just odd on its own, and then, well. Okay, yeah, I just looked it up, and the nearest cell tower is an hour drive through straight desert. T, there's no way. You sure he's still on shift?” 

“As far as I know.” She frowned. “He doesn't even have a car. He just catches rides with his bunk mate. Where would he go?” 

“I don't know.” Cyrion took a deep breath, and the sudden noise sent static crackling through the speaker. “Something just doesn't feel right. You'll call me if you find out anything?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “I will.” 

She hung up the phone and lit up another cigarette. There was a steadily growing sense of dread pooling rapidly in the pit of her stomach. 

She jumped as the patio door slammed back open and Anders materialized with two mugs steaming in the cold air. 

“I'll never get used to how cold it gets at night here when the days are so damn hot,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “It’s supposed to be winter soon, holiday candles aren’t supposed to melt on the dashboard when you’re at work.” 

Adrestia laughed. “Yeah, but if we get a dust storm close enough to town on Satinalia, we can probably pretend it’s snow for the pictures to send back home.” 

“Right?” He chuckled and passed her a mug of what looked (and smelled) like absurdly boozy hot chocolate. “So, is this the part where I ask you where ‘home’ is?” 

“Hmm.” She sipped the drink and made a face. “What is  _ in _ this?” 

He shrugged. “It was the ‘holiday special,’” he said, making air quotes with his free hand. “I didn’t ask.” He took a swig and choked, setting the drink down on the table with a disgusted flourish. “Ah. That  _ is _ special.” He moved closer behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You were telling me about home,” he murmured into her ear. 

“You’re awfully nosy for someone who hit on me at work two weeks ago.” 

“Mm. It’s been a nice two weeks, though, hasn’t it?” He set his chin on her head and swayed them both to the faint sounds of music coming from inside the bar. “What’s your story, Tabris?” 

“Cute  _ and _ persistent.” 

She could practically feel his grin in the shift of his jaw in her hair. “I like to think it’s all part of my charm.” 

She hummed in agreement. “Let’s see.” She put the remains of her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and leaned on the patio railing. “How much of my life story do you want here, are we talking like elevator pitch or annotated biography?” 

“You could start with what borough of Denerim you got that tattoo on your—” 

Adrestia spun around and clapped her hand over his mouth. “Not another word, Anders,” she hissed. “That is privileged information.” 

He cackled through her fingers. “Admit it. You think I’m clever.” 

“I think you’re a little shit who always knows more than he lets on.” 

He pouted. “Fine. You had a Denerim U sweatshirt on the floor the other night. Must I work this hard for everything I know about you?” 

“Isn’t it more rewarding if you work for it a little?” she teased. 

“So are you  _ from _ Denerim, or did you just get your degree there?” 

“I didn’t.” She felt her mood sour a bit. “I dropped out. I don’t really want to talk about why, if that’s okay?” 

“Shit.” He pulled back and studied her face, cradling her cheeks with his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“You absolutely did mean to pry,” she deflected, forcing a grin to her face, but his expression remained somber. 

“Not like that.” He trailed his fingers around her neck and played with the wisps of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. “So why did you leave the table earlier? Is everything alright?” 

“Still prying, I see,” she teased. “No, wait,” she added quickly when his face fell. “It’s okay. My dad called. It’s...something’s up with my cousin. Actually…” She grabbed the phone from her pocket and pulled up the text messages. “Weird, right? He works out on the OFT rig.” 

Anders studied the screen, forehead wrinkling as he took in the contents. “Those look like sat coordinates. What kind of phone does he have?” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I, it’s a work phone. Why, what difference does that make?” 

“Because. Look.” He produced his own, a bulky flip phone with a cracked casing and a single, fat antenna poking from one side. “Everyone on base gets these when they’re shipped out here. Cell towers don’t last very long out in that desert without a lot of maintenance, and this place doesn’t really have the budget for all of that. So we all get satellite phones. Technically they’re ‘work only,’ but nobody really bothers with regular ones because there’s no signal out on base anyway, and everyone overlooks how much people use them for personal calls and texts because, well.” He shrugged. “Look around. No one ever gets posted out here for caring about much of anything.” 

“Then why wouldn’t he call or text more?” 

“He’s probably worked to the bone, Tia. Have you ever been on one of those things?” He scrolled up the message history and back down. “Honestly, he probably just pocket texted an emergency GPS location ping. When does he get back?” 

“Tomorrow, but—”

“Then you can worry about it tomorrow.” He brushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes and set the phone down on the table. “Even if something is wrong, there’s not much you can do right now anyway.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” 

His lip quirked to the side. “Was it not?” 

She smacked him on the shoulder. “You have a terrible way with words.”

“I’m a doctor. I didn’t go to med school to write poetry.” 

“You  _ did  _ go to med school, didn’t you?” She grinned and leaned in, gently brushing the stubble on his chin with her lips. 

He captured her bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m also an Aquarius, still have all of my wisdom teeth, and can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue,” he murmured into her mouth. 

“Dreamy,” she teased before claiming his lips with hers entirely. 

“Ahem.” Nathaniel cleared his throat behind them. “Really, Anders? I can’t believe you dragged me here for trivia just to sneak off and snog your girlfriend all night.”

Adrestia sprang backwards.

“He’s not my—”

“She’s not my—” 

They stared at each other awkwardly. Adrestia jammed her hands into her pockets and looked away, cheeks burning, but Anders just looped an arm amiably around her shoulders. “She  _ is _ pretty cute, though, right?” 

Nathaniel shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. 

“I think he likes you, Tia.” 

“Alright, nevermind,” Nathaniel drawled. “I’m going back inside now.”

“We should probably go back too,” Adrestia mused. “ _ Shit, _ we left Velanna by herself in there. We should definitely go back inside.” 

The air inside the bar felt stiflingly heavy after the chill of the patio. Adrestia felt the feeling slowly coming back into her fingers as she rubbed her hands together and followed Anders back to their table just in time to hear the trivia announcer's voice boom through the loudspeaker. 

“The question was ‘How many Dalish tribes of East Ferelden signed the Treaty of Kings in the year 1647 Reckoning? List their names for a bonus of one point per correct name.’ Now, we had a lot of great tries here, folks, but only one team nailed the number and every single name on the list—”

“You're looking rather pleased with yourself, Velanna,” Anders said.

“Still in first place with an impressive five for five winning streak,  _ The Nathaniel Meowes!”  _ roared the MC to thunderous applause. 

Velanna shrugged and smoothed the front of her shirt again. She was perched delicately on the edge of her seat, lanky legs crossed primly at the knees. “It wasn't all me,” she said, one corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. “Nathaniel brought the paper to the stand a few times.” 

Nathaniel scowled and didn’t say anything. 

The rest of the night passed by in a blur of drinks and laughter and the occasional behind-the-back butt grab that, due to remarkably measured timing, teetered on the border between sensual and hilarious. Adrestia still didn’t really know what to make of Anders, but she found his presence soothing all the same. He made her nights less lonely, anyway, and she liked to think that for now, that was enough. 

After a few rounds of drinks on the house, courtesy of Velanna netting their table the grand prize with a level of ease and ferocity Adrestia would never have expected of her friend in a public setting, the night began to wind down. 

Velanna politely thanked them for a “surprisingly fun evening” and left ten minutes before last call. Nathaniel insisted on taking his leave shortly after, only to return within five minutes after remembering they had taken Anders’ car. 

“You can take the car,” Anders said cheerfully, and a visibly relieved Nathaniel took the keys and disappeared without any further questions. 

“So...how are you going to get home?” Adrestia asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer, and when he batted his eyes at her and asked for a ride, she only vaguely pretended to be irritated. And if he happened to end up in her bed that night instead of his own, well, she wasn’t going to complain about that, either. 

It was four in the morning when her phone rang again. Anders had only just left, picking up his clothing and getting dressed in the dark in a well- meaning but vain attempt to keep from waking her up. She’d pretended to sleep when he planted an affectionate kiss on her nose, mumbling some nonsensical sounds as she watched him from across the room with one eye slightly cracked. She'd fully intended to go back to sleep when her phone vibrated, jarring and abrasive on the nightstand. 

_ Soris _ , the display read. She frowned and put the phone to her ear. 

At first, all she could hear was a low, rhythmic rumbling in the background,  _ thwump thwump thwump  _ against a backdrop of light static. And then, voices, but low and unintelligible, like a radio station with exceptionally bad reception. 

“Soris?” she whispered. Her voice dripped with uncertainty. 

There was no reply. 

She set the phone to speaker and held it to her ear, straining to make out any detail at all. 

And then, a high pitched, ear- piercing electronic screech cut through the static. Adrestia dropped the phone in alarm, and it clattered unceremoniously to the floor.  _ Call dropped,  _ the screen blinked. 

“Fucking hell,” she hissed. Her heart pounded heavy against her ribcage. 

The silence that followed was nothing short of oppressive. She wrapped her arms around her chest and fought to keep her breathing steady.

The walk to the kitchen for a glass of water felt like time was stretching around her. The worn linoleum floor, poorly insulated against the chill, made the joints in her toes ache if she stood in one place too long. She pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders and opened the dishwasher in search of a clean glass. 

_ What did it mean?  _

Chewing absentmindedly on her lip, she turned her phone back on, pulled up the text messages, and plugged the numbers into a geo-search. The screen blinked for a few moments, and then a map appeared in front of her. Platform 52, clearly visible even from distant satellite imagery, stared back at her, an immense metal blot in the middle of the Abyssal Rift, stretching like a dark, angry scar across the map against the muted orange-red of the desert. 

She studied the image for a moment, unease prickling across her skin. Something wasn’t right. She zoomed in until she could see the map scale. 

The red dot indicating the coordinates she’d plugged in sat squarely in the middle of the chasm, almost two miles away from Platform 52. 

“What the fuck?” she whispered. 

She closed out the map and tried to dial Soris’ number again. 

“I’m sorry, but the person you called has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Goodbye.”  _ Click. _

Frustration mounting, she tried again. 

“I’m sorry, but the person you called has a一”

She hung up and scrolled through her browser for the P-52 website, swiping her finger frantically across the screen until she found the contact details. She dialed the main office line with shaking fingers. 

“We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to dial is not available. Please try again later.” 

Undaunted, she tried the toll-free line. 

“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”  _ Click. _

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” she repeated. 

“Adrestia? Are you alright?” Valora wandered into the kitchen and squinted at her blearily, wisps of strawberry blonde all askew under her cap. 

It took Adrestia a few moments to realize someone was addressing her. “Sorry,” she said finally. “I...hey, how do you feel about coming with me to pick up Soris later?” 

Valora’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “I thought he was coming back with Slim. Is everything okay?” 

“I think so,” Adrestia said. “But...I don’t know, I thought it would be sort of nice if we got him ourselves.” 

“Okay. Sure. I’ll make some coffee.” 

If Valora sensed the lie, she didn’t let on. 

It was probably fine, Adrestia told herself. 

It had to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only took me eleven months to crank out. No big deal. 😂
> 
> No, but seriously, if you made it this far, thank you for reading. After a bit of a hiatus, we're finally picking it back up, and we're so grateful you decided to dive back into this story with us. 
> 
> Chapter title taken from [Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I62e8CTmUdk) by Barns Courtney. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the puns. Nathaniel surely didn't. 
> 
> See you next time.
> 
> xoxoxo  
diz & mc

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading ♥️ Diz & MC


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